Page 52 of Shots on Net

“He’s five inches taller and at least a hundred pounds heavier. And he’s pretty much solid muscle. Trust me. I’ve touched his stomach.”

“I’ll take your word for it. But really, this isn’t something to worry about. Big people have sex with small people all the time, and vice versa,” he says, shrugging. “Also, and feel free to tell me to fuck off if this is none of my business, but…are we really at this point? I know you very well, my friend, so I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume his stomach is the only part of him you’ve explored so far.”

“Well…that’s true. But we kiss all the time now. Like, a lot. I’m getting chapped lips and an addiction.”

This time Jefferson can’t contain it and bursts out laughing. The librarian shushes him; I close the laptop in case she comes over to reprimand us. Putting his palms over his eyes, he takes a couple shaky breaths, trying to control himself.

“Alright—addiction to kissing aside—I still don’t see how we’ve gotten from point a to z. I’m glad to hear you’re enjoying your make out sessions, but this is a big leap.” He taps a finger on my laptop. “Carter isn’t…pressuring you to do something, right?”

“No. Oh my god, no,” I say, vehemently. “Listen, are you sure you want to talk about this?”

“We’re best friends, Zeke. If you can’t talk about butt sex with your best friend, are we even friends?” He nudges my knee with his, below the table. “No need to be embarrassed.”

“Thanks. I guess I’m just thinking about what might happen. What if we’re kissing and things are going places, and this happens.” I widen my eyes at the laptop.

“Yeah, I don’t really think anal just happens,” he says, dryly.

“No, I know. I guess I’m just sort of confused by it all. On one hand, the thought of having sex with him makes me nervous, but on the other it’s something I want to do. And I’ve been thinking about it a lot, which makes me more nervous, and more excited, and kind of makes me feel sick. Also, Carter is super-hot, which makes me anxious for other reasons.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be doing anything unless you’re comfortable with it, and you don’t have to, anyway. Also, I really shouldn’t have to point out that, while yes, you and Carter have dissimilar body types, that shouldn’t be something that makes you anxious. He obviously likes what he sees when he looks at you, and that’s not going to change with your clothes off. He’s openly invested in this relationship and you look the same now as you did at the beginning. I really don’t think it matters.”

He’s right. Of course, he’s right. I’ve never cared what others look like, nor have I ever felt an immediate sexual attraction to someone based on it. But Carter does experience that sort of attraction, and I know I’m not the body type he usually prefers. Just because it’s something I shouldn’t be concerned about doesn’t mean I can control the worry when it arises.

“To be honest, I think this made me feel worse,” I admit, fidgeting with my laptop. “The more I read, the more I feel like I’m out of my depth. Even foreplay sounds like a lot. What if I can’t do any of it? What if I’m bad?”

Jefferson stares at me, looking uncharacteristically serious. He’s leaned back against his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. I can see an indent in his cheek where he’s chewing on it.

“I don’t think it matters if somebody is bad at it,” he says, and then uncrosses his arms to hold up a hand when he sees me start to interrupt. “No, seriously. Who cares? That just means you do it more often, right? And this sort of thing isn’t really about what you’re doing or how you’re doing it. I think who you’re with means more. Carter could be a truly terrible kisser, but how would you know? You enjoy kissing him, and that’s all that matters.”

“Okay,” I nod. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right.”

“You know what else I think?” He says, cheerfully. “You should talk to Carter about this. Pencil in an anal chat in-between hot and heavy make outs.”

“I wish I’d never told you about the kissing.”

“Make sure to keep enough lip balm on hand,” he adds, grinning devilishly as I start packing up my things.

???

I’d rode in with Carter to campus this morning, but told him I’d walk home. It’s nice enough out and I wasn’t sure how long I’d stay at the library, or whether my timeline would coincide with his practice. When I turn down Walnut Ave, my gaze is immediately drawn to the house and the unfamiliar vehicle in the driveway. I assume this is Vasel’s car, since, as far as I know, Carter has no one else he’s particularly close with. Opening the front door, I hesitate to call out, not wanting to interrupt him when he’s with his friend.

“Zeke?” Carter yells, and I hear the slam of a cupboard door. “Is that you?”

Smiling at how pleased he sounds, I set my backpack carefully on the floor next to the couch and head toward the kitchen. Surprisingly, there is a man I don’t recognize hovering uncertainly near the back door. Vasel is here, as I thought he might be. When Carter sees me, he steps away from the counter and walks over to me.

“Hey,” he says, and leans down to give me a quick kiss. This is one of my favorite things about Carter: his complete indifference to what other people might think about our relationship.

“Hi, how was practice?”

“Fine,” he says, shrugging, and moving back to the counter where I see the evidence of smoothie making. “Do you want a smoothie?”

“Oh, sure, thank you. Hi, Vasel, how are you?”

“I am well, thank you for asking! Here is our new friend, Max.” Vasel gestures to the other man, who raises his arm in a half-wave. There is something cautious about him, like he’s positioned himself near the back door in case he needs to make a hasty retreat. “Max, this is Zeke. He is the best thing that has ever happened to Carter.”

“Vas, shut the fuck up,” Carter says, though the words lack any conviction since he sounds so happy.

“Hi,” Max says to me.

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